


you are young and life is long

by sealpoint



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, aka harry is a whiny centenarian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 04:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5570350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealpoint/pseuds/sealpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>for the au prompt "you're a vampire and every time you go out you ask me if you look okay because you can't see your reflection, but goddamn if only you could"</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are young and life is long

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta'd, i apologize.  
> title from time // pink floyd

Harry tosses another shirt onto the floor. He’s been standing in his dressing gown for about an hour and a half now, Niall supposes, trying to choose between two floral print shirts—two floral print shirts that look exactly the same if he’s being honest. Niall lounges on the chaise inside Harry’s massive closet and spins the cap of a water bottle he’s got wedged behind his folded knees.

“We’re only going for dinner, Harry,” He says gently, and he doesn’t need to see Harry’s face to know the other man is rolling his eyes. He can hear Harry’s exasperated groan from behind him though.

“You don’t understand Niall,” Harry says in that scolding tone Niall’s become a bit too accustomed with. “It’s been nearly two-hundred years since I’ve—“

“—been able to see yourself,” Niall finishes for him. “I get it Harry. We’ve had this conversation before, pet.” Harry huffs angrily in response, as Harry does, and it’s actually quite adorable—not what one would expect from a two-hundred and seventeen year old vampire. As if to prove this point—or disprove it, Niall’s not quite sure—Harry throws another shirt onto the growing floor pile and growls.

“No need to have a strop about it,” says Niall, but he’s sympathetic. He doesn’t exactly know what Harry’s going through with this whole ‘turned vampire at twenty-one’ thing, but it can’t be easy; not being able to see yourself in the mirror, or in photographs. Even after nearly two-hundred years.

“M’not having a strop ‘bout anything,” Harry grumbles, and he lets his champagne silk dressing gown slip from his broad shoulders. It pools on the carpet around his feet and he steps over it, padding off in his underwear deeper into the closet.

After seemingly having found something adequate to wear, Niall watches Harry dress himself when he returns a few minutes later. He squeezes into a pair of black jeans and barely buttons up a sheer black blouse, one which Niall notices is not of the two he’d been dead-set on choosing between earlier. He pulls his hair back into a loose bun, now nearly completely dried after their shower earlier, and pushes some sunglasses onto the top of his head. Even in the evenings, Niall knows the sunlight gives Harry headaches. Contrary to popular vampire lore, Niall had learned exposure to the sun wouldn’t melt Harry like the wicked witch of the west, it just made him feel exhausted. Kind of the opposite of what the sun is meant to do for humans.

“That should do it,” Harry mutters to himself, and moves to stand in front of the floor length mirror. He fiddles with his buttons before sighing, and when Niall looks over his shoulder he’s met with the familiar, yet still chilling, sight of his boyfriend’s missing reflection. He stands to sidle up next to Harry and gently tucks a stray curl from the nape of his neck back into the worn elastic with the rest of his hair. It’s weird seeing himself in the mirror alone knowing Harry’s standing right next to him.

“How do I look?” Harry asks, smiling softly. Niall holds him at an arm’s length and looks him over. He can feel Harry’s solid arms through the thin material of the shirt, and his eyes catch the antennae of Harry’s buttermoth tattoo just above where he’s decided to stop buttoning.

“It really is a shame you can’t see yourself,” Niall says, raising an eyebrow when Harry laughs out loud.

“And why’s that?” Harry asks, cheeky as always.

“Just wish you knew what you do to me is all,” Niall laughs back, and he leans up to smooch Harry’s cheek sloppily. Harry squirms out of his grasp easily and moves to wipe the slobber off his face, but Niall kisses him again—messier and this time right beside his mouth.

“Gross!” Harry squawks, pinning Niall’s arms to his sides. It’s moments like these that Niall remembers just how strong Harry is. It’s easy to forget. Easy to forget Harry isn’t human.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Harry chuckles. He lets Niall’s forearms go and straightens the lines of his shirt from where he’s been a bit roughed up.

“Not quite worth that much, I’m afraid,” Niall says, breathless. And then Harry’s got that crease between his brows and his eyes are clouded with concern.

“Did I scare you? Are you hurt?” Harry asks urgently, voice quiet. He runs his fingers along Niall’s jaw and presses a palm to his cheek. “I know this is new for you. For us. But, you can always tell me—“

He tugs Harry against him, fingers wound in the sheer lapel of Harry’s shirt, and grinds himself down against the taller man’s thigh. He’s got his back against the mirror now and it’s cold, but Harry’s touch is always colder.

“Wouldn’t exactly call this scared, but I’ve gotten off to weirder,” Niall laughs, but it comes out strangled. In the dim light of the closet, he can see Harry’s dilated pupils and the tips of his fangs beginning to poke into the soft skin of his lower lip. “Like I said, wish you could see yourself. How gorgeous you are. Wish you could see what it is about you exactly that does this to me.”

Harry kisses the juncture at Niall’s neck and shoulder; feeling fangs scrape against the skin there. “Don’t ruin your dinner now,” Niall breathes, and he’s the one scolding now. Harry just laughs as he pulls away; the sunglasses slip from where they’ve been perched on the top of his head and fall onto his face. Niall’s stomach rolls with the mixture of lust and adoration he’s suddenly feeling.

He sobers up from his emotional high long enough to grab Harry’s wrist, thumbing where his pulse would have been. “You look great, Haz,” Niall reaffirms, pulling him out of the closet and into the master bedroom. For some reason, he realizes they’ve left the black silk sheets on Harry’s bed a mess. “Always do.”

“You know bloody well it’s physically impossible for me to blush, Niall James Horan,” Harry snickers. “There’s no need for flattery, you’re getting laid tonight anyways s’long as you pick up the dinner tab.”

“There’ll be no dinner if we’re late for the reservations I’ve made,” Niall chides, pocketing the keys to Harry’s Audi from the bedside table. “Then I’ll end up as the main course for the third time this week.”

Harry just sticks out his tongue and drags Niall by the hand into the hallway, away from the dark atmosphere of the bedroom. One-hundred and ninety-six years of vampirism and Harry was stuck with the mentality of a five year old it seemed.

**Author's Note:**

> this was completely self-indulgent; vampire!harry is my only vice.


End file.
